


A Promise Lasts Forever

by cx_shhhh



Series: The Adventures of Prince Grantaire and Sir Enjolras [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Mutual Pining, Older Enjolras, Prince Grantaire, Sir Enjolras, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, it’s only two years, tall enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cx_shhhh/pseuds/cx_shhhh
Summary: The cheesiest story of a prince who falls in love with his childhood friend. These idiots pine too much and get nothing done. Also flower crowns and dancing.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: The Adventures of Prince Grantaire and Sir Enjolras [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737412
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU, which means it doesn’t have to completely historically accurate. Also if they’re too ooc, well, that’s just to amp up the cheesiness.

Enjolras looks at the sleeping man next to him and sighs, sliding off the ridiculously large bed and beginning the arduous task of putting his discarded armor back on. Without thinking twice, he bends down and presses his lips to the scruffy cheek of his liege, his prince, his  _ love _ .

Enjolras picks up his sword and casts one last longing look to the comfortable bed, steeling himself for the day and what may come with it. A groggy voice pipes up from behind him, “Wait. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my [Tumblr](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)...  
> I post a lot of Les Mis stuff, so perhaps something will grab your interest?


	2. Your Highness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras knows the meaning of “love at first sight” at last, but he’s too young to realize it.

“Enjolras! _Enjolras!_ ”

A small boy with hair the color of gold runs toward the sound of the woman’s voice, coming from the royal chambers. He stops in front of her, blinking wide blue eyes curiously. “Yes, Mother?”

She ruffles Enjolras’s hair before nodding to one of the guards standing at the door. “Jojo, you’re going to meet the new prince today. Don’t speak too loudly, else he’ll get disturbed and start wailing.”

“Okay, Mother,” Enjolras responds as firmly as a two-year-old can. Holding his mother’s hand, Enjolras steps into the bedroom and up to the cradle placed near the queen’s bed. He hesitantly peeks into it and gasps because the prince is so tiny! Enjolras can’t tear his eyes away from the prince’s flushed cheeks and dark lashes. The queen speaks up, alerting Enjolras of her presence. “Child, this is Prince Grantaire. When you become a knight, you are expected to protect him at every cost.”

Enjolras nods as if he could understand anything the queen had said and peers back into Grantaire’s face. “Hello, Prince ‘Aire,” he murmurs, much to the delight of everyone else in the room. The baby’s face scrunches up as soon as those words have left Enjolras’s mouth, and suddenly, Enjolras finds himself staring into a pair of eyes the color of the sky. Grantaire coos happily and reaches out a hand to stroke Enjolras’s hair. Enjolras, for one, cannot take his eyes off his prince’s, not quite minding the fist now tugging at his hair.

It’s decided at that point that Enjolras would never allow Grantaire to be unhappy if he can help it, staring into his eyes. He stays in the room for a little longer, playing with the baby and drawing a variety of happy noises from him. When Grantaire starts wailing, Enjolras tries his best and shushes him, only making the situation worse. The queen places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Enjolras steps back, allowing her to take her son into her arms and pat him until he falls asleep. Enjolras takes this all in with wonder as he’s led out of the bedroom by his mother.

“Mother, I wanna marry Prince ‘Aire when I grow up.”

Crouching in front of him, she takes Enjolras’s hands in hers and replies in a soft voice, “Jojo, the prince is going to marry a princess from another kingdom to secure a good future for both families. You will marry a nice noblewoman and have kids to carry on the Enjolras name.”

All of a sudden, the day becomes gloomy again as Enjolras lowers his head in dejection. “I still wanna visit Prince ‘Aire whenever I can and play with him!”

“Well, because you will be trained to be a knight, you’re going to stay in the castle until you turn seven, alright? Then someone else will teach you how to hunt and fight. You will be the bravest knight in all the kingdoms!”

Enjolras grins at his mother’s words, cheering up almost immediately. Of course, he makes good on his promise to visit Grantaire as often as possible, quickly becoming used to the way the prince’s face lights up whenever he catches sight of Enjolras’s blond hair.

* * *

  
Six years later, Enjolras is just about to jump into bed when he hears the sound of rapid footsteps in the hallway. The sound of rain against the window and the occasional rumbling thunder are usually enough to lull him to sleep, but the door to his bedroom slamming open and a tiny figure in a long nightgown stands in the doorway, casting a shadow against the wall. Enjolras blinks his eyes blearily and asks, “Your Highness? What’s wrong?”

Grantaire enters the room and climbs up onto the bed. His blue eyes are watery and his lips are trembling while his tiny body shakes like a leaf. “I don’t like storms. They’re too scary. Jojo is not scary and will protect me. And my name is ‘Aire.”

That’s enough for Enjolras to lift the covers and encourage Grantaire to slip inside, pressing close. He snuggles into the warmth that is Enjolras and falls asleep quickly, making snuffling sounds once in a while. All the exhaustion from running around with the huntsmen suddenly catches up to Enjolras as he watches Grantaire’s peaceful face. Enjolras presses a kiss to his prince’s forehead and settles his chin on top of those fluffy black curls before drifting off as well.

When morning comes, Enjolras hugs the body next to him closer unconsciously. “Ow, Jojo, I can’t breathe!”

He snaps awake to see the red face of his prince in front of him. Enjolras smashes his face into his pillow and grumbles, “G’morning, Your Highness.”

“Jojo, Javert said it’s your day off, so you _have_ to come play in the flower fields with me! Get up, get up!”

“Mmmfff. Go back to your rooms and get dressed,” Enjolras mutters into his pillow, waiting for the door to close before turning over and falling asleep again.

“Jojo won’t play with me. I’m sad.”

Enjolras bolts upright this time when he hears Grantaire sniffle. His eyes land on his prince, dressed in a soft-looking green tunic and smiling cunningly. “You-”

The prince mockingly places a hand on his hip and repeats Enjolras’s words back to him, “Get dressed, Jojo. Then you can teach me how to use a sword!”

Enjolras groans while stretching his sore body and dons his own red tunic. He ties his hair expertly into a low ponytail with a strip of leather and takes Grantaire’s hand to lead him down to the kitchens. Valjean hands them both a couple of bread rolls and smiles at them while they stuff their faces.

Enjolras leads Grantaire to a flat patch of grass and procures the two wooden swords he snagged on his way out. He hands one to Grantaire and bows to his prince before standing in the position Javert taught him. Grantaire copies his pose, almost falling over when he attempts to bow as gracefully as Enjolras had, earning himself a bit of unrestrained laughter. “Javert said to push forward and then defend. He goes so fast sometimes!”

Enjolras demonstrates a few times, and Grantaire tries to do the same, wobbling and swinging his sword around precariously. They end up running around chasing each other and collapsing in the middle of a field of daisies. Grantaire sits up to tug on a couple flowers and weave them loosely together. He offers the whole mess eagerly to Enjolras, who wrinkles his nose at them because _crowns, ick_. However, he spots Grantaire’s smile on the verge of falling and quickly bends his head down to allow him to place the wreath on his head. It was truly worth the pain of wearing it to see his prince light up as brightly as he did.

They sit amongst the flowers for a while munching on the pastries that Valjean prepared for them, Enjolras watching Grantaire’s hands make another crown for himself and nestle the flowers in his hair, the white a stunning contrast with his inky curls. Enjolras stands up and offers a hand to Grantaire, bending at the waist and smiling at him. Grantaire allows himself to be pulled up and blushes slightly when Enjolras’s lips brush against his knuckles.

The two children take their time walking back to the castle and entering through the kitchen door. Enjolras walks with his prince back to his rooms and gives him a hug before making his way back to his own room. On his way, he encounters Captain Javert and starts jabbering excitedly about all his adventures with the prince while the man listens fondly. “Good night, Enjolras. Be ready for a long day tomorrow.”  
  


“Yes, Captain! Good night!” Enjolras replies eagerly. He reaches up to untie his hair, forgetting that the flower crown was still perched in his hair. Enjolras gently sets it on his bedside table, looking at it as he gets into bed. He pulls the covers up to his chin and falls asleep, dreaming of Grantaire’s smile and daisies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my [Tumblr](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)...  
> I post a lot of Les Mis stuff, so perhaps something will grab your interest?


	3. My Liege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras travels, it gets a bit angsty, the queen is plotting something, and some other stuff.

“ _No_. What do you mean, he’s going away? You can’t do this to me,” Grantaire pleads as his mother shakes her head. “Don’t make Enjolras leave, _please_.”

“It has to be done, my son. He needs to get away from this drafty castle and experience life for himself. And you, kitten, need to learn how to become a benevolent leader who will take over the kingdom and its subjects.”

Grantaire huffs and turns away from the hand placed kindly on his cheek. “I still can’t believe you’re sending away my best friend. He can continue being a squire here, and I’ll be happy too. Does my happiness not matter to you?”

The queen sighs, “Grantaire. You have other friends in the castle. Joly and Bossuet are rather close to you, are they not?”

“Yes, but-”

“No. Enjolras needs to learn how to distance himself from his emotions and you. Anything could happen to him, and it should not have to affect you. Should the need arise, each knight has to be able to put themself in between you and the enemy. If Enjolras gets distracted from his duties or swayed by your pleading in the midst of battle, he will pay for it dearly.”

Tears are running down Grantaire’s cheeks now and he’s clutching his mother’s dress. “That is ridiculous, Mother. _You cannot do this to me._ ”

A hand strokes the top of his head, attempting to comfort him. “It’ll only be for a year, kitten. He’ll be back before you know it. You’ll be busy perfecting your ballroom dancing and learning how to hold meetings with your father’s council.”

Grantaire tears himself away and holes himself in his bedroom, refusing to leave for the rest of the day. A knock sounds, prompting him to weakly shout, “Go away, Mother.”

The door opens, and a voice that is distinctly not female jokes, “I don’t think I’m quite old enough or a woman, Your Highness.”

Enjolras sits on the edge of Grantaire’s bed, watching the tuft of hair sticking out from the lump under the covers. “My name is ‘Aire, Enjolras.”

He snorts, “And mine is Jojo, last time I checked. It’s too early for you to be in bed already.”

“I’m ill.”

“Right. I’ll let Joly know, then.”

The lump shifts. “Wait, no. My head just hurts.”

“… I’ll get Joly.”

As Enjolras stands up, a hand reaches out and curls tightly around his wrist. He looks back at Grantaire’s blotchy face, eyes wide and unhappy. “Stay with me, please. I’m not actually sick.”

Enjolras smiles and reaches out to pinch one of Grantaire’s cheeks. “So, my liege. What has you upset and requesting my presence?”

His prince looks away bashfully and at the patterned bedclothes. “I just want your presence for as long as possible before I cannot have it anymore.”

There’s a moment of silence while Enjolras inhales a long breath and exhales. “I see Her Majesty has broken the news to you. I’m sorry for not having mentioned this to you before, but it is necessary. Are you not excited for me, Your Highness?”

“You’re leaving me for a year. Please, be my guest and tell me why I should be excited.”

“No need for sarcasm, my liege. Your mother tells me I have to become _emotionally detached_. Whatever that means.”

Grantaire cracks a smile at that and tugs Enjolras closer so he’s lying on the bed next to him. “I’m going to miss you. Don’t forget about me while you meet other people.”

Enjolras’s eyes flash a piercing blue. “Never. You’ll always be right here.”

He uncurls the fingers from around his wrist and presses Grantaire’s hand to his chest, right above his heart, meeting his gaze. If Enjolras notices the prince’s breath hitch minutely, he makes no remark about it. Soon, Grantaire yawns and tries to stay awake, taking in Enjolras for as long as possible and never letting his hand go. His eyelids don’t listen to him, however, _the traitors_ , and shut the beautiful sight of his future knight away.

Come morning, Grantaire wakes with an imprint on his bed where Enjolras had lain and the faintest feeling of a kiss brushed against his forehead. Bossuet comes and helps him get dressed, but where the two would make puns and crack jokes, silence looms over them instead.

As the day passes, members of the court press comforting touches to Grantaire’s shoulders and murmur words, but he smiles stiffly and takes no heed. He throws himself into his lessons, studying from dawn to dusk. Bahorel introduces him to Feuilly, who tells him stories of how Enjolras attempted to steal into his mentor’s armory when they were younger and nearly got a cut from mishandling a very sharp sword. Grantaire smiles fondly, but it does nothing to alleviate the pain.

As the queen had mentioned, Grantaire learned how to dance gracefully as well as become familiar with other forms of art. He learned how to play the organ left in a closet to gather dust, sing ballads so sweetly that even Javert shed a tear, and paint the most beautiful pictures of the birds from his window. All the court ladies at Grantaire’s age requested a dance at the parties the queen held, and he obliged, but he would much rather be in Enjolras’s arms, being twirled around the ballroom. The thought brought a blush to his cheeks, which his current dancing partner took as an understanding to start flirting and batting her eyelashes at him. The prince endured all of this for the rest of the year.

* * *

  
Idly whistling, Grantaire wanders down a corridor until he bumps into a boy his age with dimples and wild brown hair. “Oh! Forgive me,” Grantaire sheepishly says, running a hand through his own tousled hair. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The boy grins at him, making those dimples all the more pronounced. “Don’t fret, my friend! My name is Courfeyrac, but others call me Courf, You, or Idiot.”

Grantaire laughs at Courfeyrac and waves when he steps away. For the second time that afternoon, he’s interrupted, but this time by Jehan with a message for him. “Your Highness!” he gasps, out of breath from running. “Her Majesty, the queen requests your presence immediately!”

Now Grantaire is curious because his mother usually lets him do his own thing, rarely ever calling him for anything. “Do you have any idea of what she may want with me?”

Jehan shakes his head furiously, “No, Your Highness. But I recommend you go find out.”

Indeed, Grantaire does find out what his mother wanted when he notices the person standing next to her. Tears start filling his eyes, and his hands cover his mouth. “ _Enjolras_.”

He turns around, and Grantaire loses himself in his blue eyes, rushing forward and hugging him. Enjolras tenses when arms wrap around his torso, lifting a hand and awkwardly patting fluffy curls. He glances at the queen, who seems to have adopted a neutral expression. Enjolras takes this as an order to gently remove himself from the embrace and tell him coldly, “That is not how royalty behaves, Your Highness. Do you go around hugging everyone you don’t see for a year?”

The hurt expression in Grantaire’s eyes is definitely not what Enjolras intended, and seeing that vivacious face of his close up makes him regret every single word. Grantaire steps away, not bothering to tell him off for calling him “Your Highness,” and stammers, “I-I see. Turns out a year can be the difference between being friends and becoming strangers.”

Turning around, Grantaire raises his chin and walks purposefully back to his hallway, only lifting the corners of his mouth in a sad imitation of a genuine smile when Courfeyrac brushes past with a grin and another person in tow. Meanwhile, Enjolras stands there silently, his inner turmoil not quite making its way to his facial expression. He bows to the queen, who inclines her head, and joins his fellow squires. “Courfeyrac, Combeferre, I hope you find yourselves comfortable here. I… should go unpack the saddlebags.”

Enjolras goes and does just that but also spends some time moping in the kitchen, speaking with Valjean and Javert about his travels. When Javert tells him to apologize to the prince with some less than kind words, he ducks his head, ashamed, as if he were a young page being scolded by his mentor again. Enjolras makes his way to Grantaire’s bedroom door, shut tightly like the night before he had to leave. This time, Enjolras could hear sniffles and whimpers as he reaches for the knocker. His hand stops multiple times, and when he finally musters up the courage, the crying has stopped. Enjolras tests the doorknob, shaking his head when he realizes the door is unlocked, and treads softly up to the bed.

The prince’s pillow is still wet with fresh tears, and he himself is snoring softly, almost like a kitten purring. Enjolras sits on the bed like he had a year ago and fixes his gaze on Grantaire’s face. His eyelashes are dark and plastered together from crying, and the softness of his cheeks had faded away, high cheekbones making an appearance. Grantaire is _beautiful_ , and Enjolras restrains himself from brushing a hand through his hair, as untamed as it has always been. He doesn’t stop himself from bending down and pressing the lightest touch of his lips against Grantaire’s forehead. He shifts a little, moving slightly towards Enjolras, but stays sleeping soundly while Enjolras makes his escape, eyes wanting to linger for far longer on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my [Tumblr](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)...  
> I post a lot of Les Mis stuff, so perhaps something will grab your interest?


	4. My Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire turns eighteen, and Enjolras is holding himself back.

On Grantaire’s eighteenth birthday, the kingdom holds a massive party to celebrate their prince entering adulthood. The morning of, Bossuet rudely awakens him, cheering loudly while Joly tugs him into an upright position. Grantaire gets pushed into a chair while Bossuet digs for his fancy green jacket and the whitest shirt and trousers he can find. Joly yanks at his hair, not quite caring whenever Grantaire winces at a particularly painful snarl. He gets pushed out the door, freshly shaven and in his shiny black boots.

Grantaire makes his rounds, checking up on preparation of the ballroom and in the kitchen. Valjean sticks his head out of the oven long enough to give him a floury wave. Grantaire feels happier than he has ever been, especially when Courfeyrac bounces by and hugs him tightly, followed by Combeferre, who nods and smiles in greeting. Grantaire turns and nearly smacks right into Enjolras, who kneels and lifts his hand up to his lips, causing a blush to rapidly rise to his cheeks. “Your Highness.”

He pouts mockingly and pats Enjolras’s cheek. “What, you can’t drop that even for my birthday?”

Enjolras gives him a stern look and stands up, sighing, “Prince ‘Aire. Happy birthday.”

Grantaire feels breathless at this, looking _up_ at Enjolras, who suddenly seems so much taller and much more handsome than ever in his own red uniform. Grantaire is an adult who can judge for himself whether he’s falling in love or not, and he’s pretty sure that he is already there with Enjolras. During Enjolras’s travel year, he suspected himself of being an infatuated fool already, and it has only grown since Enjolras had barged into his bedroom the day after he came back and gathered him in his arms in a hug that could rival one of Courfeyrac’s and apologized for nearly an hour afterwards.

Now, all the teasing words and friendly banter all seemed like flirting, but Grantaire was sure that his love was unrequited, and Enjolras was simply being friendly. Whatever time he did not spend with his fellow knights-in-training, Enjolras spent with Grantaire. They dueled, Grantaire quickly becoming as good of a swordsman as Enjolras, and more often than not ending with his back against Enjolras’s chest, a sword at his neck. They rode horses together, Enjolras dismounting quickly and offering a hand to Grantaire, who, once again, found himself tumbling into Enjolras’s arms.

Night comes quickly, the day becoming a blur in Grantaire’s memory. He’s forced to change into nicer clothing for the evening, and the queen gives him an approving once-over when he steps up to the dais in the ballroom. The king announces stuff that Grantaire zones out for because he’s looking for Enjolras and his other friends. Sure enough, he makes eye contact with Joly and Bossuet where they’re hanging around Musichetta, Bahorel serving drinks, Feuilly and Jehan hovering close to the door, Courfeyrac and Combeferre in their formal uniforms, and Enjolras, who looks more radiant than everyone in the room.

Grantaire feels like he’s about to fall over from dancing with so many people, men and women alike. However, the one person he would like to dance with the most is stubbornly standing by the wall, eyes focused on the prince and his partners. Grantaire would love to assume that Enjolras watches _him_ , but he’s much too invested in his duties to allow Grantaire to get his hopes up. He sighs, lost in his thoughts, when a throat clears itself, causing him to look up sharply. “If Your Highness would honor me with a dance, I would be very grateful.”

“Enjolras, what-” Grantaire stares at him, all earnest blue eyes and shining golden hair tied neatly in a ponytail.

“Please, Your Highness.”

Before he gets a chance to give an answer, the queen says from behind Grantaire, “Well, son? Are you not going to dance with the handsome young man?”

Grantaire is even more confused now. “Mother, I- alright.”

He places a gloved hand on Enjolras’s proffered arm and grins up at him, receiving one in return. Grantaire can’t help but notice how right his mother was in calling Enjolras handsome with his cheekbones and jawline and all that. A blush worms its way onto Grantaire’s face, and he presses it into Enjolras’s shoulder, evoking a tiny laugh. The music begins, and Enjolras leads Grantaire to the middle of the dancefloor. His hand, where it’s located on Grantaire’s waist, is a warm and steadying weight. All he can focus on is Enjolras, Enjolras, and _Enjolras_. The ballroom disappears, and they’re floating amongst the fluffy clouds, twirling elegantly. Enjolras bows to his prince when the music ends and wordlessly takes his station next to Combeferre once more.

* * *

  
Grantaire is still trapped in a feeling of bliss when he overhears some nobles talking.

_“I would never go near those peasants’ parties.”_

_“God forbid the prince ever finds himself in one.”_

Curiosity peaking, he attaches himself to Enjolras’s side and tells him that people were talking badly of commoners. Grantaire knows for a fact that he would do anything for the sake of those less privileged, and immediately goes along with his plan to join the festivals in town. When the next dance begins, Enjolras tells Courfeyrac to take his place and ushers Grantaire to the servants’ quarters.

Fantine hands the two of them some old clothing with the promise to bring their evening-wear back to their rooms, and Grantaire can only think of the fact that the man he loves is, _ahem, in his underclothes_ , on the other side of the room. It’s all a bit overwhelming, so he takes a deep breath and wills his blush to disappear when he turns around. Of course, Enjolras looks as good in plain brown shirts as his fitted red jacket.

The two of them take a horse, Enjolras sitting in front while Grantaire wraps his arms around his middle and leans his head against his back. “I hope you realize we’ll be in so much trouble with my mother if she finds out.”

Grantaire can hear the smile in Enjolras’s voice. “Well, Her Majesty can deal with her son having a night of fun on his first day into adulthood.”

Grantaire hums and burrows closer to Enjolras’s warmth to shelter against the brisk night air. When they arrive, the festival is in full swing, the bonfire highlighting Grantaire’s wonder at how free everything seems in contrast to stuffy ballrooms and drafty castles. While Enjolras ties the horse, a girl approaches him, offering a drink. Grantaire opens his mouth to say something when an unknown voice shouts, “Éponine! Stop dawdling and bring another round!”

Éponine grits her teeth and smiles apologetically at Grantaire before replying, “Yes, Father!”

Enjolras suddenly appears next to Grantaire just as Éponine leaves. “Who was that?”

“Oh, she dropped by to give me this drink,” Grantaire replies as he gives the mug a sniff. He likes the wines in the castle just fine, so he takes a sip. Enjolras watches with amusement as Grantaire ends up downing the entire drink. When Éponine comes back, he asks, “So what are you doing, stuck serving your father?”

“He thinks everything revolves around money. I can’t run away either, or my brother and sister would become my parents’ next victims.”

Enjolras enters the conversation, asking, “How are you with a sword?”

Éponine tilts her head. “Is this an interrogation? Whatever. I’m able to stab a guy with one if he gets too close.”

That earns laughter, and Grantaire thinks that she could be given a position at the castle under Javert or Feuilly. He says this aloud, and Éponine laughs while reminding them that she has two siblings who she cares for like her own children. Grantaire cuts in, “Perhaps they could work there too if you ask nicely.”

Grantaire drinks a few more pints until he feels more wobbly than he should. “Is the ground walking, Jojo, or am I just spinning in circles?”

“Alright. It’s time to go, Your Highness,” Enjolras replies, rolling his eyes. He witnesses Grantaire stumble around aimlessly before deciding to guide him to the horse with an arm around his waist. Grantaire nuzzles Enjolras’s shirt and offhandedly comments, “Mmm. You smell good. Wanna bury my face in your chest.”

Enjolras eases Grantaire onto the horse in front of him and tries to ignore the fluttering in his chest when his prince leans back against him. He snuffles before heeding his own words and smothering himself with Enjolras’s shirt. “Your heart is louding so poundly, Jojo.”

“Sleep, Your Highness, and we’ll be back in no time.”

“I _said_ , my name is ‘Aire. Not ‘Your Highness’, not ‘my liege’.”

The rest is muffled by Enjolras’s shirt as Grantaire falls asleep, his kitten-like snores being the only sound in their ears as the horse takes them both back to the castle. Joly is alerted to bring water and some headache medicine. Sooner rather than later, Enjolras lifts a sleeping Grantaire into his arms with a small grunt of exertion and to his rooms, depositing him on the bed and tucking the covers up close to his chin. He hesitates, lips hovering directly over Grantaire’s, but decides to be the better person and kiss his forehead instead. “G’night, Enj’ras.”

“Good night, my prince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my [Tumblr](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)...  
> I post a lot of Les Mis stuff, so perhaps something will grab your interest?


	5. My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re idiots, which means there needs to be some adult angsting before something good happens.

Grantaire is feeling rather lonely as of late. The Triumvirate, as they had been fondly dubbed, will be earning their knighthood at last, and of course, all their friends are busy in preparation. Sometimes, Grantaire looks out of his bedroom window while he’s painting and catches a glimpse of Enjolras training. It’s all a bit overwhelming watching the man he loves, golden hair whipping around his face while he dances with a sword as gracefully as he danced with Grantaire on his birthday. He blushes as he hones in on the sweat lining Enjolras’s neck, soaking his loose linen shirt and making it cling to his torso.

Suddenly, Grantaire looks at his canvas and groans, covering his face with his hands and undoubtedly flicking paint from his paintbrush into his hair. It’s no mere coincidence the subject of his painting looks uncannily like the subject of his affections after staring at him like a creep for so long.

He eventually gives up trying to focus on being productive and takes a stroll through the hallways down to Enjolras’s room. Grantaire isn’t quite sure what takes over him, wanting him to push open the unlocked door, but he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been in there since escaping the storm that one night. He enters hesitantly and sits down on the bed, fluffing a pillow with one hand while smoothing the sheets down with the other. Grantaire is very aware that he’s acting like no less of a creep than when he was staring at Enjolras, but there’s a part of him that wants to know how he functions, wonders if he sleeps the same way as he did when they were younger.

Grantaire picks up the pillow and hugs it to his chest, burying his face in the floral scent wafting off of it. That’s probably what Enjolras’s hair smells like, especially after he washes it. He quickly derails that train of thought because he’s only being a little creepy and turning towards being downright pervy is not allowed.

Something else catches Grantaire’s gaze. He sits up and peers at the bedside table, noting the crusty remains of a wreath of flowers. _Daisies. Could it be?_ Grantaire touches one and draws back when it crumbles. _It’s definitely old._ An idea lighting up in his head, he runs to the window where he knows belongs a planter with flowers that the maids like to take care of. Jehan makes sure that all the windows of the castle are brightened with flowers. And sure enough, tiny white blooms dot the soil.

Grantaire waits for Enjolras, sitting on his bed and clutching his pillow to his chest. He’s not quite sure how Enjolras would react, but he’s willing to take the chance and stay. When the door creaks open, Grantaire’s heart is doing a complicated dance in his chest. “Y-your Highness?”

And, _oh_ , Grantaire really should have prepared himself before coming face-to-face with the glory that is Enjolras’s lovely chest. He must squeak embarrassingly and turn bright red as he shoves the flower crown onto Enjolras’s hair. Without letting him get a word in, Grantaire yells something at him about enjoying being royalty and crowns before waving awkwardly and darting out of the room.

Grantaire leans his forehead against the stone wall outside of Enjolras’s room, wondering if he’s laughing quietly the way he does when the prince is acting spectacularly foolish. Unbeknownst to him, Enjolras is smiling at himself like an idiot, reaching up to touch the crown and trying to remember the adorable expression on his prince’s face.

* * *

  
A few days later, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre are lined up, ready to be knighted. The master of the ceremony drones on and on while Grantaire sweats under his green doublet. A lot of stuff happens in the span of an hour, and finally, Enjolras kneels at the king’s feet. Grantaire cannot look away as his father taps Enjolras’s shoulders with the flat of his sword’s blade and presents it to him. Enjolras looks like he belongs on the throne with his regal posture and the glint in his blue eyes.

All of a sudden, The Triumvirate surrounds Grantaire, Courfeyrac looking ready to burst from excitement. “I don’t suppose I’ll have to address you three as ‘Sirs’ now?”

Courfeyrac shudders in horror, “I’d rather you didn’t. ‘You’ works perfectly fine for the time being.”

Grantaire turns around and finds himself once again staring into Enjolras’s perfect face. It isn’t really fair to be so nice to look at while also chivalrous and kind. Watching his blond hair catch the sunlight and sparkle, Grantaire wonders if Enjolras would make a better member of the royal family than himself. Seeing him in full knight regalia really does nothing to alleviate the crushing feelings inside of him either. Grantaire shakes his head to remind himself that he’s being ridiculous, and Enjolras could never possibly fall in love with him. He congratulates the three new knights once more and enters the castle.

The next time Enjolras gets some time off, he spends the entire day with Grantaire. They’ve gone swimming in a stream, Enjolras looking like some deity from mythology with his hair dripping wet and skin glistening in the warm sunlight. However, Grantaire cannot shake the offhand comment Enjolras made earlier about him marrying a princess and becoming crowned king.

Grantaire, who hadn’t given Enjolras the pleasure of a reply yet, now states as his hair dries, “I don’t really want to marry and take over quite yet.”

“You’ll have to eventually. It’s your duty to our kingdom.”

Grantaire can’t help but bristle a little at that. “If getting married to a stranger I don’t love is my duty, explain to me what yours could possibly be.”

A sigh. “While _you_ go living your life in luxury as a monarch, Your Highness, _I_ have to be the one to make sure you don’t get stabbed by an enemy you make.”

Grantaire stands up, very offended now. “Last time I checked, _Sir Enjolras_ , I knew how to wield a sword as skillfully as you. Do not go making the assumption that I’d get my sorry ass into trouble I cannot get myself out of. And _my name_ is Grantaire.”

Enjolras gets up in Grantaire’s face to speak, and Grantaire’s breath catches in his throat. It’s truly thrilling to be witness to the fire burning in Enjolras’s eyes. “Yes, _Your Highness_ , and my duty is to the people as well. My first priority may be you and your future family, but you’re not the only person in this kingdom.”

“Firstly, is it such a bad thing to have you be my friend as a priority? And I’d like to reiterate my statement of not wanting to marry a stranger when _I’m in love with someone else!_ ”

It’s satisfying to see Enjolras stiffen like that, letting Grantaire know that he won an argument. “It would be difficult to remain friends after all, Your Highness. You would be occupied with royal affairs on top of everything else.”

The pain in Grantaire’s chest grows exponentially. He takes a step backwards and asks, “W-why wouldn’t you?”

There’s despair coloring Enjolras’s eyes, and Grantaire can’t bring himself to maintain eye contact. “When I saw you for the first time, I promised myself I would protect you at all costs, to never let you cry if I could help it. I already broke one of those promises, and I’d never forgive myself if I let the other slip out from between my fingers. Her Majesty warned me against getting too emotionally attached, and you can call me a coward, my liege, but now I know what she means. I’d much rather lose my own life than lose you.”

Deciding he won’t face rejection, the prince turns away and starts walking in the direction of the castle. “Then I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me when you came back from your travels!”

“ _Grantaire, wait!_ ”

At the glorious sound of his name falling from Enjolras’s lips, Grantaire has to stop in his tracks.

“Before you decide to hate me forever and never speak to me again, and I know your heart already belongs to someone, but you need to know that _I love you_.”

There are tears prickling in Grantaire’s eyes as he pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming. “You, _what?_ ”

Grantaire turns around sharply and, _wow,_ he overestimated the distance between them or Enjolras moved, because he finds himself trapped in the space between his knight’s arms. Grantaire reaches a hand up and gently brushes Enjolras’s cheeks with his fingers. He whispers in the space between them, “Say it again.”

The despair in his eyes is replaced with the bold determination Grantaire knows and loves. Enjolras, once again, never fails to comply. “I love you. It’s always been you, _dammit_.”

There’s a tingling behind Grantaire’s ribcage as he laces his fingers together behind Enjolras’s neck and surges forward to kiss him. The arm that snakes around his waist is a comforting warmth as always, and if Grantaire felt like he was flying while dancing with Enjolras, kissing him is infinitely more exhilarating.

Grantaire has to physically break away, but stays in the circle of Enjolras’s arms. “I love you too. Probably since the moment you cuddled me during that stormy night, but you kept telling me to marry someone else, and I lost all hope.”

Enjolras is still gazing into his eyes, and he presses their foreheads together. “Since now I’ll never be able to let you out of my sight, I’ll be a terrible knight, and you’ll have to fend for yourself.”

They both crack grins at that, and Grantaire darts up to kiss Enjolras’s cheek shyly. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

There’s so much love in Enjolras’s blue eyes, so much adoration, and Grantaire is getting lost in them. “Don’t tell me to marry anyone else anymore. I’ll convince my parents to let you marry me instead.”

He gets a kiss for that. “My love, as long as you’ll have me by your side, I’d be honored to serve a most benevolent ruler.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my [Tumblr](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)...  
> I post a lot of Les Mis stuff, so perhaps something will grab your interest?


	6. Epilogue

Enjolras and Grantaire stand side by side as they recite their wedding vows. Grantaire with his inky hair tamed and Enjolras in his uniform make a stunning couple. When they seal their marriage with a kiss, applause rings out in the room, louder from the king and queen than any other.

Grantaire meets his mother’s eyes as he bends down to receive the crown, and she winks at her. Perhaps this has all been a ploy of hers, but with his husband by his side and smiling at him, Grantaire can’t bring himself to care at all.

_ Fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my [Tumblr](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)...  
> I post a lot of Les Mis stuff, so perhaps something will grab your interest?

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s my [Tumblr](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)...  
> I post a lot of Les Mis stuff, so perhaps something will grab your interest?


End file.
